


Then Found You (As a Traveller Finds a Place of Welcome)

by aubreyli



Series: Wanderlust [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Arthur and Merlin in Rome, Brief reference to another BBC character, Gen, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreyli/pseuds/aubreyli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An immortal sorcerer and a formerly dead king visit the Eternal City.  What does one say to a man who has waited for over a millennium?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then Found You (As a Traveller Finds a Place of Welcome)

The voyage had been Merlin's idea, two weeks after Arthur saved what was once Albion, when they were finally both sure that Arthur was not going to die again now that he had accomplished his task.  Merlin, wanting to celebrate, had said something about showing Arthur the rest of the world, since crossing great distances now apparently took no time at all (Arthur still shuddered at the memory of his first time on an "aero plane," an utterly impossible _flying metal carriage_ that Merlin insisted did not run on magic.  Arthur remains skeptical).  He had unrolled a map of the world and said to Arthur, "Take your pick, Sire," with a casual wave of his hand, as though he was merely giving Arthur a choice of which pastry to have for breakfast. 

Arthur had blinked at the map, where his _entire_ _kingdom_ was no larger than a fingernail and only half of its lands were even remotely known to him, and said, "I've always wanted to see Rome."

He'd chosen Rome because it was familiar to him.  The empire had already been expelled from Albion in his time, but many of its structures and ways had survived.  And Gaius, who had ancestors there, used to tell Arthur and Morgana stories about the great architectural wonders of Rome: the towering aqueducts, the glorious temples, that immense structure called the _Colosseo,_ which was so big that it took over a half hour to walk around it once.

Seeing the real city, however, was... strange.  Crumbling ruins of buildings that even Arthur considered ancient stood amongst magnificent dedications to a religion that had only just started to be practiced by peasants in Arthur's time, and all of them connected by carriages that used oil to move, some of which even went under the ground.  It gave the city a feeling of timelessness, as if every moment in its history was happening all at once.

"That's why Rome is called the Eternal City," Merlin said, when Arthur told him about his thoughts.  He placed a hand on the sun-warmed stone of a broken column, and now that Arthur knew what to watch for, he saw the brief flash of gold beneath the fringe of Merlin's dark lashes.  "It remembers all that has come before, and it will remember us long after we're gone."

He took his hand away, and grinned at Arthur, revealing a patch of stone that bore a mess of etched scribbles in Merlin's familiar scrawl.  Some of the writing was so worn down that it was illegible, but Arthur nonetheless recognized Merlin's name, over and over, beside numbers that Arthur could only assume were years.

"All these years, and you still write like a chicken scratching in the dirt," Arthur said, and used the time Merlin took to roll his eyes to subtract the smallest number from the largest, because that was the one request that Merlin never granted, the one question he refused to answer.

_1557._

When Arthur could speak again, blinking away the sting in his eyes, he asked, "Who's this?" He pointed to a name that was definitely _not_ Merlin's, though he could only make out the R and what might have been a Y. 

"Hm?  Oh!" Merlin ran his fingertips over the name, his grin fading into something contemplative, almost sad.  "He was a Roman I met here once.  Well, he wasn't really a Roman -- long story," he said, waving a dismissive hand at Arthur, his gaze turned inward.  "We just.... we had a lot in common."

Arthur looked at him silently, waiting, but Merlin said nothing more.  A familiar ache welled up inside him, and he was reminded of another night, when Arthur had looked at the man who knew everything about him, and realized just how little he knew in return.  Except that Arthur had no right to _these_ secrets, these centuries shining through Merlin's unlined face that had made him into someone who spoke the language of this foreign land with perfect fluency, who had pointed up at a section of a magnificent ceiling and whispered, "He had so much trouble with that bit, but I told him that it looked fine."

Did this strange, new Merlin have a lover, Arthur wondered, a life of his own that he would be returning to now that his long vigil was finally at an end?  Was that why he had wept when Arthur had returned?  Was all this just one, final kindness, Merlin's way of bidding farewell to his king?

_No, not a king,_ a voice reminded him.  _Not anymore._ With neither crown nor kingdom, he was little different than the ruins that surrounded them, echoes of a former glory that now had no purpose other than to be gawked at by visitors.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, jerking Arthur out of his thoughts.  He didn't know what expression was on his face, but it made Merlin's brow furrow and his lips pull into a tight, worried frown.  "What's wrong?"

_Nothing_ , he wanted to say.  _Don't be stupid, Merlin_.  But his lips betrayed him, and said, instead, "Why are you still here?"

For a long moment, Merlin said nothing, and Arthur, choosing just this once to indulge in cowardice, looked away.  All around them, people veered away like water around a stone, even while Merlin's power kept them from being seen.

"Do you... not want me to be here?" Merlin asked, finally, sounding confused and perhaps also a little hurt, and guilt added itself to the riot of emotions already churning in Arthur's gut.

"It's not about what I want," he replied, feeling the ache in him deepen, because if there had been one thing he had learned as king, both by watching and by doing, it was that.  And he had already been far, far too selfish where Merlin was concerned. 

"I told you once, that I would be your servant until I died," Merlin said quietly.  "I keep my promises."

Arthur shut his eyes.  Merlin always did this, always made things so much more difficult than they had to be.  "That promise was made to a king.  I am no longer a king, and thus I have no need of servants."

There was a pause.  "What about friends, then?"

He shook his head.  "Merlin..."

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin said, in the strangely compelling way that Arthur had never been able to resist, even in the earliest days of their acquaintance.  He'd never known anyone who could say his name the way Merlin did, like he could see everything Arthur was, and could summon all of it with that one word.

Arthur opened his eyes, and looked at him.  He'd taken a few steps closer while Arthur had had his eyes closed, so that they were nearly toe to toe.  Merlin was taller than him.  Somehow, Arthur always forgot that until they were standing together. 

"Merlin," he said, thinking of all the times he’d woken victorious with no memory of battle, of Merlin’s sad eyes when he’d thought no one was watching, of _one thousand five hundred and fifty-seven_ _years_ , "Merlin, you’ve done more than enough.  I can't make you…"

"Of course not," Merlin agreed.  For a moment, he looked almost angry, but then he blinked and his solemn expression melted into a grin that stretched from ear to laughably enormous ear.  "Arthur, when have you ever been able to make me do something I didn't want to do?"

Arthur sighed and ducked his head to hide the smile tugging at his lips, because this was another thing that Merlin always did -- proclaimed victory before Arthur was ready to admit defeat.  Warmth filled his body like mulled wine on a wintry day, infusing him with a strength that shrank down armies and monsters until they were men and beasts.  That, he realized, was familiar too.  "Well, it was worth a try," he said anyway, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sneer.  "Thought I'd finally be able to be rid of you, get myself a proper servant for a change."

"Wait, who just said that?  I thought I heard my liege, but all I can see is this _huge_ clotpole -- ow!" Merlin yelped, and darted away from Arthur, rubbing the ear that he'd just pinched and glaring at him balefully.  "Prat."

"Idiot," Arthur replied blithely.  "Well?  Where to next?"

"Food," Merlin said promptly, ignoring Arthur's muttered _'of course.'_   "You'll love pizza.  It's like a flat pie, covered with sauce and cheese and whatever else you want.  And then there's a bridge that I want to take you..."

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from the poem "The Confirmation," written by Edwin Muir, who also wrote the poem "Merlin," from where the title of the last episode, presumably, is drawn.


End file.
